


Place the Blame

by Brunetterebel010



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Brief Violence, Depression, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Post-War, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 02:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9102112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brunetterebel010/pseuds/Brunetterebel010
Summary: One year after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco has a run-in with someone who blames him for the death of their loved one int he war - but hey Draco has been blaming himself for everything since the night Dumbledore died, so join the party.





	1. This Feels Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this story when I first read the Harry Potter series something like six years ago, but I never finished it. I've been thinking about it lately and decided to re-visit it.

“Vincent Crabbe, Hogwarts student, 7th year” the booming voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic, echoed through the Great Hall. Draco sighed in relief, grateful that Crabbe was listed as a student and not an ally of the Dark Lord. He swallowed thickly and fought to keep his emotionless façade in place. Vince had been one of his closest friends, but he refused to humiliate himself in a room full of people who though he should be dead too, or at least in Azkaban.

Harry Potter’s testimony had saved he and his mother from the worst of the legal trouble faced by the Death Eaters, but Draco knew that nothing would improve people’s opinion of him. He would always be the Death Eater who orchestrated the attack on Hogwarts, and the death of Albus Dumbledore. No one cared that his arm did not bear the Dark Mark, or that he had done what he had done only because the threat was to his mother’s life. No one cared that it would have happened anyway.

The minister continued down the list, today they were gathered at Hogwarts, on the first anniversary of the final battle, to dedicate a memorial. A huge plaque, which would later be mounted to the larger memorial on the grounds, hung from the wall of the Great Hall. The inscription read “In Memory of those whose lives were lost in the Battle of Hogwarts. 2 May 1998.” Under the inscription the names appeared as the Minister read them. The list contained members of Dumbledore’s Army, and the Order of the Phoenix, Hogwarts students, Death Eaters, and non-humans alike. Crabbe was followed by Creevy, Lestrange by Lupin.

“Every life lost, a tragedy” was the Minstry’s official stance, and effort at healing, Draco scoffed to himself, as if anyone cared that his aunt Bella had been killed, or that Wormtail was dead. He knew that most of the room wanted to cheer as those names were read, not that he really blamed the. He held back a shudder at the thought of Bella’s shrill screams as she tortured her countless victims.

When the Minister concluded, Draco did not linger in the Hall. He quietly slipped from his place at the back of the room and headed toward the best refuge he could think of to gather himself, and wait out the crowds until he could make his way to the apparition points. He froze as he stepped into Myrtle’s bathroom, where he had spent so much of his sixth year unsure if he was hiding from others or himself. Someone else had beaten him here, broken sobs echoed through the room, a dark-haired man was bent over a sink, knuckles white from the strength of his grip on the porcelain. Draco began to back out of the room, but the head of the man at the sink snapped up and he was frozen again, as his eyes met the haunted expression on the reflection of the face in the mirror, the face of George Weasley, he realized after a moment.

“If you’ve come to torment me Malfoy, theres nothing else you can do.” The man’s voice bit out across the room.

“No, I was just… I’m sorry.” Draco stammered as he once again tried to leave, suddenly struggling to breathe. Before he could get the words out, Weasley spun around and flung a spell. Draco winced, expecting a curse, but instead he simply found himself falling to the floor in a body-bind.

“That’s right Malfoy,” Weasley stalked across the room and began dragging him further in, “Run away like the coward you are. Don’t dare look me in the face, you might have to face what you’ve done.” Weasley’s words dripped with venom, at sharp odds with his former good-nature. He pushed the door shut and twisted the lock. “Can’t have that can we? Perfect Malfoy can’t be blamed for anything. Probably glad that my brother’s dead, aren’t you? Always did want to get rid of the nasty, blood-traitors.” Weasley was hovering over him now, spitting the words at him, if looks could kill Draco would have been burned alive with the heat of a thousand suns in that moment. “And then Harry goes and gets you out of a trip to Azkaban. Says you saved his arse, you never actually killed anyone. Good for you, guess letting the bloody Death Eaters in to Hogwarts to slaughter children isn’t worth mentioning.” Draco winced as something hit the wall behind him and shattered. “So there you go, home to your mommy and your money and your mansion, and I can’t even walk in to my family home, because it hurts too much. My brother is dead and your just…” Weasley seemed lost for words at that, gesturing wildly. Draco felt his own anger rise to match, how dare Weasley suggest that he got off without scars, without hurt. So what he didn’t go to Azkaban? His best friend was dead, his mother was a living ghost, and god forbid anyone ever look into the hell that was his mind.

“You’re just mad because you’re nothing without him. Can’t even finish your bloody sentences, can you? Needed him to do it for you.” He knew he shouldn’t bait the already unstable man, but he didn’t care. He knew he deserved it, hoped whatever came next would absolve some of his guilt.

“Bastard” Weasley hissed, and Draco felt ribs crack when the kick landed in his side. 

“You opened your mouth first Weasel” Draco spat, biting down on the urge to scream in pain. “I was trying to leave you in peace before you started insulting me.” Another kick knocked the air from his lungs and Weasley added a silencing charm to his body-bind. He could only stare helplessly as Weasley drew himself up, bracing for another blow, he wasn’t sure if that would have been worse than what happened next. Weasley walked out, slamming the door behind him, leaving Draco bound, gagged, and bloodied, in the floor of a room that no one ever came to. This time there was no one who cared whether Draco lived or died to rush to his rescue. There was no timekeeping device in the bathroom, and Myrtle was gone now, but the slow drip of the faucet that Weasley hadn’t completely shut off made Draco feel like he had spent eternity in hell before he felt the magic lift and his body went fully limp. He groaned to himself when he heard footsteps coming back toward the bathroom sometime later. He could imagine the headlines now “Defected Death Eater found half-dead on bathroom floor” 

“Still laying there?” Came a voice from above him, he looked up into George Weasley’s face yet again, but this time he held his tongue. “Scared to get up and face the music, eh?”

“Wesley, why don’t you just kill me and get on with your life?” Draco said, part of him wishing the man would do it. Which is exactly why he knew it wouldn’t happen. His whole life was that way. Fate seemed to enjoy humiliating him and lady luck avoided him as the plague, the only thing he had ever been successful at was failure.

“you think you get off that easy Malfoy? My brother, my best friend is dead because of you and your family. You think you can cause all this pain and not have to feel any of it?”

“I suppose not.” Draco sighed. George looked down at the pathetic figure on the floor. He was suddenly too drained to keep up his tirade, with a sigh he extended his hand. 

“C’mon Malfoy, get off the floor” Draco’s eyes were wary, but he took the hand and lifted himself from the floor, cringing as his crack ribs protested the movement. George walked away without another word and Draco began the trek to an apparition point, when he walked through the Manor’s front door he was met by a house elf who informed him that his mother was waiting for him in her sitting room.

“Do I want to know why you look as though you’ve been used as a bludger?” Narcissa demanded, taking in his bedraggled appearance and the bruises on his face from where he’d fallen. He met her gaze, but didn’t rise to her bait. “Didn’t I tell you it was useless to go there. I’m sure you don’t’ feel any better than you did before.”

“I’m fine mum, really.” Draco said, eager to escape, he bid her a curt goodnight and made his way to his room, trying to ignore the echoes of curses and screams that still haunted these halls, though he knew it was only in his mind. 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

George was sitting on his bed in his room at the Burrow, staring across at Fred’s bed. It was unmade, the blankets falling all over. George had the urge to make it, as he always had when Fred left it like this, but these days the thought that if he made it, it would never be unmade again kept him from doing it. Molly seemed to understand. In the year since the Battle, he had barely been able to bring himself to come home. At the apartment in Diagon Alley where he and Fred had moved when they’d started the store, he had shut the door to Fred’s room, and never went to that end of the hall. In their office, Fred’s desk sat just as he’d left it when they’d locked up the store, temporarily closing it as the war tore the wizarding world apart. 

The last few days had been hell, preparations for the memorial had kept him busy, and tonight was the first time he’d been alone to dwell on the fact that he’d been a year without his best friend. He had a head full of thoughts and no Fred to share them with. He was sobbing violently before he even realized he was crying. He crossed the room and sank to his knees, leaning in to Fred’s bed as if it could offer any comfort. He hadn’t cried like this since the night of the Battle, it was refreshing really. So many emotions has run though him in the last year, the sadness at first, and the anger, but now he was left with this, a horrid, sad, empty, loneliness as the weight of reality seemed to finally settle in. His best friend was gone, his brother was dead, his partner in crime had played his last prank. He had lost so many things when he’d lost Fred and that list apparently included himself. His earlier treatment of Malfoy played back in his head, in his burning anger at the time, he’d felt justified, but now he was a bit horrified. He knew Fred would have been ashamed of him, Fred had always been the kinder, gentler brother, slow to anger and easy to forgiveness. Fred had made him better, and in the last year, he’d worked hard to make Fred proud, to build the business they’d dreamed up together, but today he had failed. 

“I’m sorry Freddy,” He spoke his resolution out to the room, “I’ll be better. I promise I’ll apologize to Malfoy if I get a chance. Don’t be disappointed in me Freddy, I couldn’t stand that.” Time got away from George as his tears fell. He wasn’t sure he would ever stop crying, but eventually the sobs subsided to gentle tears and exhaustion set in, as the sun rose he drifted into fitful sleep, leaning against his brother’s bedpost and dreaming of their better days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, rather transitional, stalled out a bit on getting from one place to the next but now we should be moving forward. . .

When George opened his eyes to find himself tucked in to his own bed, he jerked awake, trying to recall getting out of the floor. He was startled to find Percy staring at him, seated atop a trunk by the door.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Percy inquired, he didn’t miss the way George’s eyes darted to Fred’s bed before he answered. Percy was a notorious neat-freak and he usually wasn’t allowed in the twin’s room. Fred’s bed was still unmade however, and George visibly relaxed before he answered.

“Better, I think,” and he meant it, his throat was tight and he had a left over headache from his crying jag, but he felt a bit lighter after releasing the emotions he’d been trying to ignore for months.

“Didn’t look better when mum sent me to get you up for breakfast and you were wrapped around a bed post like your life depended on it.” Percy’s tone was matter-of-fact, but George was reasonable sure there was concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, yesterday wasn’t great.”

“Have you thought about seeing a counselor George?” The blunt questions caught him off guard.

“Why would I do that?” He tried not to sound too defensive, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“George, we all lost Fred. We all miss him, and a lot of other people, but I don’t think you’ve even tried to deal with it. You leave his bed and his desk and his room like you’re waiting on him to come home. It just doesn’t seem healthy to me.”

“You’re probably right.” Percy seemed shocked by the lack of argument “Malfoy walked in on me crying in a bathroom yesterday and I went after him like he personally killed Fred.” George didn’t look for the reaction to his confession, expecting a self-righteous lecture on coping mechanisms. Instead, Percy handed him a little card with a name and address on it.

“This is who I’ve been seeing, give her a call.”  
“Are you gonna have her spying on me?”

“No, George, that is illegal. She’s a squib, studied psychology at Muggle university, she’s brilliant, give her a chance.” George simply nodded, tucking the card into the bill-fold on his nightstand and rolling to get out of bed with a sigh.

“Wait” He froze, “YOU needed a counselor?” He realized a moment too late that his incredulousness might be offensive, but it was hard to imagine his practical, logical brother needing help to deal with death.

“George, I acted like a right arsehole, but I love you all, and I loved Fred, and losing him without ever really getting to talk to him and apologize is something I’ll regret for the rest of my life. My grief is different that yours, but it’s not any easier to live with.” With that Percy rose from his perch and left the room.  
George stared across the room for a few more moments before shaking himself out of it and trudging through the process of preparing to return to his flat in Diagon Alley.

 

/\/\/\\\\\/\/\\\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\\\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When Draco awoke, his whole body ached. His mother had insisted on summoning their family healer before she let him sleep the night before. He had been poked and prodded and subjected to spells and potions for hours before he was given a sleeping draught an Narcissa had whisked the healer away before he could find time to ask awkward questions about why Draco had been bludgeoned half to death. 

He groaned as he rolled to his side, peering blearily at his side table, which currently contained a steaming breakfast tray, and an assortment of potions, most of which were for healing, but one in particular had a scent that was quickly turning his stomach. With a grimace he downed the lot before turning to pick through the assortment of pastries and fruits that had been left for him. Draco growled in frustration before he could stop himself. His mother’s insistence on failing to include meat in their diet was about to drive him up a bloody wall. It was as if she thought her denial was enough to cure him. He gnawed on an apple, trying to focus and calm himself down. The aftertaste of the wolfsbane wasn’t helping, only serving to remind him that the full moon was fast approaching, heightening all of his lupine symptoms, and fouling his mood fantastically. The sweet smell of the apple was invading his painfully keen senses, and after a few bites he set it back on the tray, rising to his feet and making his way through the wining halls of the manor to the kitchens.

“Master Draco, is you feeling better this morning? Zinnia was being very worried!” A house elf greeted him when he entered. In the time since Lucius had been taken awake, he and Narcissa had begun to employ a few new elves, who he endeavored to treat with much more kindness than he had in the past.

“I believe I will recover, Zinnia. Thank you” He acknowledged her concerns, “However, I am rather hungry as my mother continues to avoid meat. Have we got anything that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“Of course Master Draco! If you be giving Zinnia a few minutes she will have some eggs and bacon.”

“That would be wonderful.” Draco helped himself to the pot of coffee atop the stove as the little elf bustled about the kitchen. After two mugs of coffee and a plate piled high with protein, he was feeling as much like himself as he expected he could, given the circumstances, and with a quick thanks to Zinnia he slipped out the back door of the kitchen to wander the manner grounds and enjoy the sunlight while it lasted.


	3. Chapter 3

As the shadows behind the manor began to grow long, Draco rose from his bench in the garden with a resigned sigh, making his way down into the bowels of the manor. The torches were lit in the dungeons and the door of the strongest cell was swung open, inviting him to settle in for his long night. He’d had an early supper with Narcissa before she’d retreated upstairs. Despite the wolfsbane potion keeping his mind clear, Draco preferred to lock himself behind the bars of the dungeon during the full moon, and Narcissa “couldn’t bear to see him that way,” Funny, he thought didn’t trouble her to see any of the dozens of other witches and wizards the Dark Lord imprisoned, tortured, and killed in our home down here. Draco tried not to be uncharitable, he knew she had been nearly as scared as he had, but he couldn’t help but blame her a little. She had known a long time ago that Lucius was awful, and she had tried to protect Draco as much as she could, except that he thought she would have been much better to run far away when she knew she was pregnant with him.

Draco couldn’t help but flinch as the heavy door of the enchanted cell clanged shut behind him, effectively imprisoning him until dawn. It didn’t take him long to realize something was wrong. The usually painful transformation was usually all too sharply in-focus of his human mind, but tonight he felt fuzzy around the edges as the moon began to rise. As flesh and bone began to twist and crack, Draco tried to stay silent, as always, to avoid disturbing his mother’s peace, but found that he couldn’t. A scream turned into a snarl as his hand popped and his nails lengthened in to claws. 

 -- -- -- -- --- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- 

Narcissa was drawn from the pages of her book by the shouts of a terrified house elf.

“Mistress! Mistress, something is being wrong with Master Draco!” Zinnia cried.

“Of course there is Zinnia. You know what tonight is, why are you shouting at me?”

“No mistress, this is being worse than the usual changing! Master Draco is howling and growling and being not very nice! He is never being like this before! He is always staying quiet and still, but now he is trying to break down the bars! Mistress is not safe!” This revelation had Narcissa bolting from her arm chair, tossing her book aside as she made for the dungeons.

“Zinnia, call Healer Zhabor immediately! Something must be wrong with the wolfsbane potion!” Narcissa commanded over her shoulder as she rushed down the hallway to the stairs. The sight the met her in the dungeon was terrifying at best, the animal in the cage, which she struggled to think of as Draco as this moment, was in a rage. The growls and screams tearing from its throat echoed throughout the chamber and it was alternating between throwing its body against the bars of the cage and trying to rip the door off of its hinges. 

Narcissa was not accustomed to being an assertive person, and she stayed true to herself in this moment, waffling between trying to comfort Draco and trying to hide away somewhere safe in case he broke out and came for her, as she was the only human in reach. In her moment of indecision she did not immediately realize that the werewolf had ceased his assault on the bars, instead he crouched in the center of the cage, watching her with wary eyes. 

“Draco darling, are you quite alright?” She took a cautious step closer but froze when the creature did the same. “Are you thinking clearly Draco?” She pressed, hoping that she was wrong about the potion failing and he would respond in a way that indicated understanding. She watched warily as the creature crept closer to the bars, watching her with every step as if SHE were the dangerous one. Hesitantly she stepped forward again, easing closer to the bars as she searched for any hint of her son in the eyes of the monster. She continued to speak softly, trying to soothe him, as she settled onto the floor very near the bars. The werewolf crept closer and she didn’t take her eyes off of him for a moment, still trying to determine what the situation was inside Draco’s mind. 

“Mrs. Malfoy! Stay away from that beast! He isn’t safe!” The relative peace of the dungeons was broken as the Healer’s footsteps and shouts echoed down the corridor. “I miscalculated the date of the moon! The potions may have counteracted the wolfsbane! Look out!” The healer burst through the door with his wand out defensively, startling the werewolf and flinging a hex at it before Narcissa could get clear of the cage. The wolf lashed out with a clawed hand as it howled in pain, and then resumed the earlier snarling and growling, lunging at the bars of the cage toward where Narcissa was now clutching her face and bleeding. The healer rushed forward, tossing another hex at the wolf as he put his arms around Narcissa and coaxed her out of the room and back toward the stairs, quickly flinging spells to reinforce the bars and seal the door of the dungeons shut until he could get her safely to St. Mungo’s for treatment and return to take care of Draco.

Zinnia was left behind, staring at the sealed door in mute horror as the monster inside raged and howled until the sun began to rise.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\//\

George sighed as he made his way down the hallway of St. Mungo’s. He’d been able to get in to see the counselor Percy had recommended, a lovely, motherly lady called Elayne Parks, surprisingly quickly, it had been only a week since he’d talked with this brother. She was kind, and understanding, but she had also forced him to confront some unpleasant truths about the ways his world had changed since the war, and encouraged some exercises in reflection to assess his responses. He was glad he’d given himself the day off at the shop because he felt heavy and exhausted after just over an hour with the woman, and he wasn’t really in the mood to put on his jovial persona and entertain customers for the rest of the day. 

Which was, of course, why he happened across Draco Malfoy, sitting dejectedly on a bench in the hallway, and the moment of truth came where he had to keep the promises he’d made to Fred, and himself. Malfoy sat with his elbows on his knees, his face buried in his hands, but as far as George could tell, he wasn’t crying. He saw Draco stiffen as he slowed his steps to stand off to his side, but he nearly gasped in shock when he cleared his throat to get Malfoy’s attention and the younger man looked up at him. He was pale, even by Malfoy standards, and that was saying something, and his eyes were heavy with purple bags, he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it. “You look like shit.”

“Come to insult me some more Weasley?” Malfoy didn’t sound angry, just exhausted as he continued “Go ahead and kick me while I’m down, it clears my head.”

“Actually, I uh, meant to apologize about what happened last week. I was a right tosser, and I had no right to say any of that shit to you, or do any of that shit that I did.” George was awkwardly eyeing the toe of his shoe where he was lightly scuffing it across the floor, to ashamed and self-conscious to sustain eye contact.

“I don’t blame you. This war took a lot, from all of us. I’ve never had a brother, so I don’t know how you feel, but I can’t say that I’d handle it any better.” Draco hoped that counted as accepting Weasley’s apology. He was practically crawling out of his skin waiting to see his mother. He’d woken on the floor of the dungeon with Healer Zhabor crouching over him, shaking him gently. It had taken only seconds for him to remember the night before and he’d bolted to his feet too quickly which just resulted in him passing out. When he’d woken again, he’d been transported to a triage room at St. Mungo’s, he was handed a restorative before he even opened his eyes all the way and after a terse examination, Zhabor had sent him out to wait, promising to come get him when Narcissa awoke, after they’d had time to speak about what had happened. 

“Right, well, I’d better be going, but I am sorry and I uh hope… everything is… okay” George gestured vaguely down the corridor where he noticed Malfoy’s eyes wandering before quickly turning on his heel and finding another way out of the hospital. He had to admit, he was a little shaken, Malfoy had looked sick, like death itself was coming for him, and George wondered if maybe he wasn’t the only one who could use a little help.


End file.
